


Torchwood File no. 646/1/6/06: Operation Blue Box; attempt no. 36/D

by ladyprydian



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Violence, assult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyprydian/pseuds/ladyprydian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark quiet night, but not unpleasantly so. The sky was clear, so the stars and the half moon shone brightly. There was no sound, except for the drops of water that fell from the trees with a patter as the wind blew. So when a sharp static crackle with an accompanying flash of blue light occurred, Barty Crouch Jr. dove for cover behind a small thicket of shrubs.</p><p>Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torchwood File no. 646/1/6/06: Operation Blue Box; attempt no. 36/D

**Author's Note:**

> Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith and the dimension cannon belong to Russell T. Davies. Doctor Who belongs to the BBC and the character of Barty Crouch Jr., various spells and other references to the Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> READ THE WARNINGS.
> 
> Dark themes here people. The Adult warning is for sexual molestation and assault, attempted rape, masturbation, and the odd swear word. 
> 
> Originally posted to lj on October 4th, 2010.

It was a dark quiet night, but not unpleasantly so. The sky was clear, so the stars and the half moon shone brightly. There was no sound, except for the drops of water that fell from the trees with a patter as the wind blew. So when a sharp static crackle with an accompanying flash of blue light occurred, Barty Crouch Jr. dove for cover behind a small thicket of shrubs. The sound piqued his interest though; a trained Auror wouldn’t make that kind of noise. Apperating entailed a whip crack sound or pop, and while it was not unknown for wizards and witches to make their own distinctive noise while doing so, he’d never heard a noise quite like this. 

His tongue darted out and swiped across his lips. The motion was as unconscious as breathing. It was a reactive action; anytime he was excited, scared, furiously angry or blissfully happy his tongue would move across his lips. He doesn’t remember when he started doing it. Perhaps it started when he was growing up with an absent but dominating father. Maybe it was during his stint in Azkaban. Or the years he was imprisoned in his father’s home. Tonight it was nerves that caused his tongue to glide across his lips again. He willed his galloping heart to slow; it was not every day one fights off the Imperius curse to join up with one’s Dark Lord and then sent on a secret mission for one’s aforementioned master. He knew, with the recent events at the Quidditch World Cup, there was the possibility of at least one or two Aurors keeping an eye out for strange goings on, and if this one had slipped up, well, more luck to him.

Senses on high alert, he heard an exasperated and frustrated female voice say loudly, _‘Oh fuck, where the hell am I now?’_ silently twisted his body towards the noise. Luck was with him because he could see the girl easy in the milky moon light. Blond, on the petite side, and dressed like a muggle in denim pants, cotton shirt and blue leather jacket. He wondered for a moment if she wasn’t a muggle in those clothes but quickly dismissed the thought. Those filthy muggles were too stupid to just appear out of nowhere. Anyone with half a brain knew it was easier to move around and disappear into a crowd if you were wearing muggle clothes. So she must have misplaced her wand as she apperated, because he couldn’t see it in her hands. That wasn’t to say it wasn’t tucked into a pocket somewhere.

He’s learnt this the hard way. One time, when he was running with the Death Eater crowd they had been on Diagon Alley making mayhem and mischief. Kids stuff, writing ‘VOLDEMORT LIVES’ on walls just to scare people, when a group of Aurors apperated. The Death Eaters split up and his only choice had been to go running from the alley and straight into a street full of muggles. The Aurors hadn’t followed him then, not wanting to risk exposing magic to their precious muggle pets. He heard later that one of his mates of his had got caught. People were never the same once his father had finished with them.

Not wanting to take any sort of chance, he pulled out his own wand, and uttered _“PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!,”_ watching as the girl went rigid and fell backwards, without bending. He and waited a few minutes just to see if anyone else had come with the girl he had just immobilized. Nothing happened. The world was silent around them; he crept forward towards her prone body. 

Peering into her face, he saw that her eyes were wide open and round. Recognition flicked through them before turning back into confusion then returning fear. Fear, oh how he had missed that look. It was so intoxicating, so exciting, so... so arousing. Bellatrix use to scare people so badly that afterwards he would beg her to come to his bed. He remembered when he, Bella and Rodolphus Lestrange went after Frank and Alice Longbottom. With awe bordering on reverence, he watched as Bella flew into a rage, how brilliantly her cheeks flushed and her hooded eyes flashing with triumph. How she fired the Cruciatus curse with abandon, jeering at the young couples pain. Oh she had been brilliant that day. Her husband, the big lummox that he was, didn’t get off on things like that and didn’t understand how Bella like it rough. But he did, oh he did. A grin flickered across his features. Damn, it was a good thing that Rodolphus believed in sharing.

Tongue once again flicking over his lips, he pushed those memories aside for now, though they had been very useful in Azkaban. The Dementors don’t understand lust all they can do is smell and absorb; devouring and consuming all your happy thoughts and pleasant memories. But lust, being a complex emotion confused them. It is an intricate mood to be in because one can lust after people, places and things. This helped him keep a certain amount of his sanity. So, night after night, he had consoled himself with thoughts of Bella, until his father had pulled him from Azkaban. But not once did he give into the temptation of pleasure there. One little touch, one gasp, on shudder of bliss and the Dementors were on you like vampires. Sucking until you were dry.

He inspected the girl. She was pretty enough, but not his usual type. He preferred _women_ , experienced, who knew what they wanted, tall, with thick shining dark hair and darker eyes. This _girl_ hooded her eyes with paint and her hair colour came from a bottle had probably as much experience as a first year muggle born. But he was a male, a starving male who, for the last decade only had a house elf for company and hadn’t been able to divulge into the primacy of his needs in years. 

Staring at her shoulders, he let his hands slowly wander down her arms searching for a wand. Unzipping the jacket he felt for inside pockets, before letting his hands wander back to her small pert breasts. He cupped them through the fabric of her shirt for a moment, squeezing them roughly and enjoying the pleasant hand full before moving on to her rib cage and down to her waist. He couldn’t help but compare this girl to his beloved Bella. Bella was more angular then curvy. Her ribs were always visible and she was rather flat chested and more boyish in figure. But she knew exactly what she wanted from him and knew how to give him the most exquisite almost painful pleasure in return.

His hands continued their wayward movement, when they reached her pants he lifted her hips up so he could fondle her bottom and see if she had anything in her back pockets. Finding nothing, he quickly patted down her legs before returning to the jacket pockets. He fingered something there but it didn’t feel like a wand, so he moved on.

Looking around on the ground beside her body, he found nothing; at least if she dropped her wand and it fell next to her, he couldn’t see it. He continued groping and fondling the girl as he rolled her over to check that she wasn’t lying on it, then he dragged her immobile body over to the bushes he had been hiding behind. There was no way he was going to risk getting caught. 

Returning to the spot where she originally fell, he saw nothing. Strange, but not unusual that a witch or wizard would stumble a few paces and drop their wand after apperateing. All the worse luck for her, he thought a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

A small movement out of the corner of his eye made him look towards the girl. She was struggling, actually trying to get away. He crawled back towards her, a hysterical giggle bubbled up, an insane smile lit up his features and he felt a warm pooling in his lower abdomen that he hadn’t felt in years. Indulging in the sensation for a moment or two, he watched her make a Herculean effort to wiggle away from him. Abruptly, he stopped chuckling as he let one hand curl around her pale throat and tighten just enough for her sense the threat and stop moving. He had to keep her quiet; the Dark Lord was depending on him. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, trying to tamp down on his arousal. Her fear was palpable now and his fingers began to caress her throat. Unbidden, his tongue darted out again and his trousers were starting to feel tight. “Now poppet, you’re going to answer my questions.” He hissed, pulling his wand back out as he cast the proper spells silently and watched as she took as shuddering breath.

“Please let me go?” The girl whispered shifting, trying to move her legs that were still locked together in the leg-locker curse.

He grabbed her and pulled her roughly into his lap. It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman. Sniffing the light floral sent of her shampoo, he whispered in her ear, “Let you go? No my little poppet, I don’t plan on letting you go. Not yet. Now answer me,” he pressed the tip of his wand into the delicate flesh under her chin. “Are you following me?”

“I’m ... I’m looking for someone.” She stammered, avoiding the question. Dread was creeping into her voice and she swallowed hard as a single tear started a slow slide down one smooth cheek. She was strong, but her fear of this type of situation was beginning to show. The desire to lick that single tear away was intense, but it was overpowered by rage. _So he was being followed! He knew it! Well he wasn’t going to be hauled back to Azkaban by some two bit, blonde bimbo who probably just scraped by in her final Auror exams._

Snarling he shoved her to the side, down onto her front, and scrabbled to his feet, grabbed for his wand and pointed it at her as she struggled to turn herself over to face him. “ME! I KNEW IT! BITCH! YOU RECOGNIZED ME!! AVADA...” He growled, spitting the angry words.

“No wait! Please!!” she exclaimed, her voice pitching higher, bordering on hysteria. She had managed to turn herself over so she was on her back and pushed herself up on her hands in a desperate attempt to scrabble away from him. He saw her wince in pain as she tried to twist and move out of the path of his wand but the lower half of her body didn’t follow. Shiny tears were trickling down her cheeks in earnest. “Please, I’m looking for someone else! Not you! I don’t even know who you are! The Doctor, he’s called. I’m looking for a man called the Doctor. Please!”

His face, contorted with anger, softened. With a blink, his eyes changed from insanity and rage to sane vulnerability. There was something different about this girl. Something about her made him stop. He never stopped. He must be losing his nerve. Cocking his head to the side, he stared at her. She was frightened yes, but not terrified. Her look was now more curious than vulnerable, as if he was something she was trying to figure out and understand. She was also looking at him, right in the eyes. No one did that, not even Bella. People looked at him, around him or through him but never into his eyes. Her inquisitive hazel eyes locked on to his chocolate ones. He could feel his anger dissipate further. It had been years since someone looked into his eyes properly that he forgot how to react to it. So he looked down, looked away. But his eyes returned to hers.

 _Mum._

His mum had been the last one to do that the night they exchanged places in Azkaban. Both his father and mother braved the Dementors that night. They were lead to his cell and allowed in, his father had brusquely walked up to him and yanked a few hairs from his head before shoving them into a flask he had concealed under her cloak. His mother had looked dreadful, she had small and blond herself and now she was a shadow of her former self. 

_“Mother,”_ he whispered as she sat down beside him on his bed. “Mummy.”

“My little boy,” she whispered back one fragile hand cupped his cheek as she looked into his gaunt face. “Where did I go wrong with you? What did I do that caused this?”  
He gaped at that, that she blamed herself for his mistakes. “Mummy,” he whispered again in disbelief.

“Enough of this,” his father said cutting in abruptly. “Drink it so we can get out of here.” He said pushing the flask into his wife’s hands. 

“Darling, this is polyjuice potion.” His mother said at his inquiring look, and she pulled another smaller flask out of her pocket and dropped it in his lap. “Drink this and you’ll look like me. Then you can go home with your father.”

“No,” he muttered.

“I will drink this other one and look like you.” His mother said pressing on as if she didn’t hear him. 

“No, mother. I won’t let you do this.”

“You don’t have the choice.” His father said snatching the smaller flask and flicked open the stop. “Your mother is _dying_ because of you.” With that, his head was pushed back, mouth forced open and the potion tipped down his throat. Once they had both transformed, their clothing was quickly exchanged and he was under the influence of the Imperius curse, he was shuffled out of the cell. 

He was never looked at properly again. Not by his father. Not by the Death Eaters. Not even his Master who looked at him like he wasn’t anything more than a tool. Until now. His tongue flicked across his lips with uncertainly as he lowered his wand.

Silence hung heavy between them, loaded with questions. The only noise came from the gentle breeze and their panting breath. They watched each other for a long time. He slid down to his knees cocking his head to the left, then to the right as he looked at her. His tongue swiping across his lips slowly as if it could catch her scent and, like the forked tongue of a snake, help him understand why. He barely heard her quite gasp as his trembling hand reach towards her. Gently cupping her cheek as his thumb stroked the tear tracks away from under her eye. 

“So... so who are you then?” the girl asked, ending the long, painful silence. “’Cos you sorta look like the man I’m looking for except ... well it doesn’t matter.” She paused and took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m Rose by the way,” she said, continuing her babble to fill the void between them. 

Lost in his own memories, it was then that he noticed she was still staring at him. Waiting for him to answer. Nervousness flared up causing his anger to return. His eyes darted away from hers to scan the surroundings and night sky, as if it would calm him. When had she taken over control? He was the one in control but he could feel her looking at him. Studying and comparing. He twitched and clenched his jaw under her intense, questioning gaze. 

She was irritating him now. Had this girl, this Rose, never heard of him? Lip curling into a snarl he shoved back the sleeve of his jacket and the warn jumper underneath. “Do you know what this is poppet?” he snapped, showing her the tattoo of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. 

She gasped and her eyes widened in amazement as the tattoo began to move; the snake slowly weaving left and right. He growled low and in his throat. She must be a muggle after all! Any witch would recognize what that mark meant! The thought repelled him. He was touching a filthy, stupid, no better than an ape, dirty muggle! His anger was bubbling back into full rage. He wanted to scream in fury. He was the one doing the questioning not... her. His questions must be answered and his requests obeyed. He was going to show her who was boss. Muggle or not he didn’t care anymore how she appeared but rather that she was there and available for him.

Using the hand that was against her cheek he slapped her hard, causing her to fall back and cry out in shock more than pain, and his ardour to return sharply. “I’m a bad man, poppet.” He said, a predatory glint coming into his now mad looking eyes. “A. Very. Bad. Man.” He whispered punctuating each word as he crawled on top of her.

“Really?” she asked her voice a little breathy as she struggled to move with him pinning her down. “’Cos I’ve met some bad men... well aliens actually and some of ‘em weren’t men. Not sure what some of ‘em were really. And I don’t know you well enough to know if you are as bad as you think you are.” She said in an attempt to talk him down from his rage. But her talking only made him angrier and he slapped her again. A sharp crack of his hand against her cheek and her choked cry echoed into the quiet night. His breath puffing against her lips as he leaned in close, his lips curled back into a sinister smile as he enjoying the palpable tension in her body and fear that had returned to her eyes. It was making him ache in so many ways. “I guess I need to show you how bad I really am?” he growled.

Grasping her by the chin he tilted her head back and pressed scratchy kisses up her neck and along her jaw. She gasped and pulled away. He moved his hands to grab her shoulders and jerked her body roughly against his, then crushed his lips against hers. She kept her mouth firmly shut as his tongue rasped against her lips, pushing and prodding them for entrance. 

She shoved at his shoulders with her hands while her legs remained immobile and firmly locked together. Pulling his mouth away from hers they gasped for air. “Tease” he growled and shoved her forcefully back down to the ground with a thud, then grabbed wrists and held them together. “Struggle and fight all you want, poppet. But you’re not going to get away. I’m going to have you.” He jeered before biting hard at the join of her neck to her shoulder.

“Just how,” Rose said, wincing as she felt his teeth scrape through her skin, drawing blood. “How do you plan on doing this with my legs stuck together?”

“A trivial matter, poppet,” he said, as he sat down on her stomach causing her breath to painfully whoosh out of her. With his free hand he took up his wand and pointed it at her legs and lifted the curse. Dropping the wand to his side, he fumbled with the button and zip of his pants his body screaming for release.

As soon as she felt her legs release, Rose used all of her Torchwood and Jack derived self defence training to unseat the man on top of her. She swiftly brought up one leg and knocked him in the back causing him to pitch forward off balance. Breaking free of the hand that was holding her wrists together, she fought hard against him. Punching, biting, scratching and fighting as dirty as she could to try to get him off of her. But it was her scream that knocked him off balance. The sharp shriek in the dead of the night startled him taking him by surprised. The reflex of avoiding loud noises, and thus inquisitive eyes, caused him to jerk backwards towards the safety of the shadows. She seized her chance and shoved him off of her, scrambling to her feet. Running as she punched the buttons on the small device she had pulled from her jacket pocket. 

With a static like cracked and burst of blue light, she was gone, leaving Barty Crouch Jr. panting in the mud.

His tongue swiped his lips again, this time catching up blood from the split lip the girl had given him. Throwing back his head, he began to laugh in what anyone passing by would call, a cackling crazed way. Oh how that little blond muggle was magnificent. He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his body was wracked with heaving spasms.

Panting and giggling hysterically his tongue darted out again. It was then that he noticed he still had a problem that needed attending to. He pushed aside his pants and took himself in hand, thinking of how the girl fought and struggled against him, of how fun it would have been to force her. Groaning and swearing, he came hard into the depression of trampled grass where they had fought.

He stayed still for a few minutes, just letting the sensation of his orgasm flow through him. But all too soon the pleasant feeling was replaced by a sense of coldness. He tucked himself away quickly, before he continued on his journey. The Dark Lord needed some Boomslang skin for the polyjuice potion and it was always best fresh.

~*~

Rose crashed into Mickey as the dimension cannon retuned her to, what the Doctor had dubbed during the battle at Canary Wharf, Pete’s World. 

“I guess those weren’t the right coordinates,” Mickey said after taking one look at Rose’s dishevelled and muddied appearance.

“No,” she said with finality. “And make sure those ones are listed under DANGEROUS NEVER USE AGAIN. I’m going for a shower.” She snapped as she tugged the collar of her jacket up and hugged herself.

Mickey watched as she hurried out of the room, his lips pressed into a firm line. Something happened in this last attempt of Rose getting back to the Doctor. He would have to be blind to have not noticed the red marks on her cheek and neck.

He ran a hand over his face. This was a quest she refused to give up no matter how many hours a day she spent at Torchwood or how dangerous it got. And it was dangerous. She jumped into a war once and occasionally into the middle of a busy street. And yet it never fazed her, never slowed her relentless drive; she adamantly refused to give up on the idea of getting back to the Doctor. More than once he dragged her away from blue prints or a computer to make her eat, sleep or bathe. And when the cannon started working and she started jumping he was the one there to console her when she just missed or couldn’t find the Doctor.

Sighing heavily, Mickey turned towards the lone desk that was in the room and sat down to close down the program that ran the cannon. He once again reminded himself that he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Rose that she should stop looking for the Doctor. She had to make that decision for herself. He stood back up and went over to the cannon to manually shut it down for the day.

Returning to the desk he picked up the papers that were printed off for this dimension jump attempt and he went over to the filing cabinet. He pulled open the top drawer and brought it forward until he found the ones labelled ‘Operation Blue Box’. He shifted the files until he found volume 4 and pulled the thick dossier out so he could properly spike the new pages into it, then scrawled his name and the date on the cover.

Mickey was worried that one day Rose wouldn’t come back and the reason for it wouldn’t be because she found the Doctor. Then what would he tell Jackie, or Pete or little Tony who worshipped his big sister like a fairy tale princess? He had done his soul searching years ago, when he was just a mechanic, and decided then that he would always do his best to get Rose back to the Doctor. It was where she was meant to be.

This was the reason why he secretly started doing jumps himself (filing his attempts under ‘Buffalo 2’). Shoving Rose’s file back in the cabinet, the next dossier he pulled was his own and he immediately crossed out the coordinates. There was no reason to go to a place where the Doctor wasn’t. Even if it did cut into his training for the inevitable day Rose wouldn’t return. Preparing so he could find her and make sure she was okay because he was certain of only one thing from this exercise: Rose would rather die than stop trying.


End file.
